Survival Of The Fittest
by ILikeMovies
Summary: What started as a seemingly easy attempt to discover more about how Bucky became The Winter Soldier, turned into a fight to survive for Steve and Sam. In a world where people will go to great lengths to keep their secrets hidden, only the fittest survive.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys. Another Sam and Steve story. Just another excuse for whump and angst. **

**Warnings for considerable amounts of violence and language, especially as the story progresses. **

**Dislaimer: I, sadly, do not own Steve nor Sam. **

**Enjoy, and if you're up to it, reviews really are appreciated. **

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"It sounds simple enough." Sam said, shrugging as he walked just behind Steve down the streets of Washington DC. They were both wearing blue jeans and plain shirts and simple hoodies in order to blend in with the crowd of people racing up and down the sidewalk. They were twisting and turning and slipping between people, and walking slightly faster than anyone else. No one even really looked up at them, and anyone who did happen to glance at them didn't even recognize them, so they were just anonymous faces on the streets of Washington. Just like they wanted to be.

"Yeah, on paper." Steve replied. His shoulders were tense and pulling at the seams of his dark blue hoodie. Sam was also tense. His body was rigid with anticipation and anxiety. They swerved around a group of young,fit women wearing business suits with trainers, speed walking to wherever it was they were heading. Sam's heart was pounding, but he felt good, he felt the familiar feel of adrenalin rushing through his veins, and he was excited. He enjoyed completing missions with Steve. Whatever they were. He was practically living every little boy's fantasy.

"Okay, but all we got to do is get in, find the document, then get out. Right?" Sam asked. In the distance he could see the building they were heading to. It was high rise like most buildings in Washington DC, and it was made of slabs of concrete covered in thick glass, giving it an almost futuristic appearance. It was an office building with approximately a hundred relatively big names slaving away inside, working to make another million dollars that they would probably spend on maintaining a lavish and extravagant lifestyle. Possibly even dabbling in illegal activities like drugs, or prostitution, or syndicates. The kind of people who lived the kind of lives actors do in Hollywood movies. Wolf Of Wall Street kind of situations.

"And don't get caught." Steve added.

A few more quick strides and they were standing in front of the huge glass doors that lead into the building. They stopped and stared at the doors for a split second, then Sam glanced at Steve and caught his eye, and Steve gave an almost imperceptible nod. They adjusted their hoodies so that their faces were covered so that any security cameras inside wouldn't be able to identify their facial features. And they walked through the doors confidently. Inside the doors was a large lobby. The flooring was marble, and every few feet there was a detailed marble pillar. A mahogany reception desk was on the right side of the room, and a small line of about five waiting people were speaking on their phones as they waited for the receptionist to finish her own phone call and attend to their needs. People in Armani suits strolled around in pairs, holding genuine leather briefcases, or sat on the black leather couches in the far corner of the room with cups of coffee beside them and their laptops on their laps.

Steve and Sam slipped in almost unnoticed. They made a beeline for the elevator, and kept their heads down and pretended to be involved in a seemingly interesting conversation. The elevator pinged and the doors slid open and a group of about four people walked out, involved in an interesting work related conversation of their own. Sam and Steve stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to close the doors, but before the doors could slide open, a man shoved his briefcase in the way and stepped inside as the doors reopened. He stood between Sam and Steve and looked dead ahead, totally ignoring them. The door slid closed with another ping, and soft elevator music started playing.

The man pressed floor seven, and Sam and Steve glanced at each other worriedly. They were going to floor seven, too. The man was tall, about six-feet-three, and was well built with broad shoulders. He had brown hair cut very short, and stubble dotted his jawline. His blue eyes were small and bright, and his thick eyebrows gave him an intimidating look. He was wearing jeans and a black suit jacket with a white work shirt beneath it, and no tie. They stood in an awkward silence until they reached the seventh floor, then they spilled out in a single file line. The guy turned left into the first dark wooden door that led into the men's bathroom. Sam and Steve continued straight down the corridor, passing wooden door after wooden door with golden names and titles on them. Their sneakers made no sound on the wooden floor.

The office they were looking for was on the far end of the room, the second last one on the left. It had the name 'Malcolm Harding' written on a golden plaque. Underneath it was the title 'CEO' written in slightly smaller black letters. Steve peeked through the window and found the desk empty, just like he had expected. It was lunch time in Washington DC, and almost every businessman went out for lunch, or meetings. He had taken a chance by showing up, but he had a contingency plan in the case that Harding hadn't gone out for lunch. Steve tested the door and glanced back down the corridor. It was empty. The door was locked, but Steve and Sam had a back up plan.

Steve stood back and his leg shot out, landing a well aimed kick on the handle of the door, making it almost fly off its hinges in splinters. Sam stood in the corridor for a minute as Steve went inside the office, and he waited to see if anyone would emerge from their offices inquiring about the noise, in which case he would have to lie to them and make up a bullshit story about how it was the sound the shelves in Harding's office falling down and about how he was one of Harding's closest and most personal friends. But, no one came out of their office, so Sam went inside the room and closed the door behind him. It was still relatively in tact.

Steve was rummaging through the files in the cupboard, and Sam strode over to the desk and started searching the piles of paper sprawled across it. "What are we looking for again?" He asked, glancing up at Steve.

Steve looked over his shoulder at Sam and glanced at the closed door before looking back at Sam. "This guy has been associated with Senator Stern. He doesn't seem to have any direct ties to HYDRA, but I think he probably knows more than we think. I saw surveillance tape footage of Stern handing a document over to Harding. It's an A4 yellow envelope with a white sticker in the top right hand corner. It was a couple days before Stern was apprehended." Steve said quietly, almost as if he was scared they were being watched.

Sam nodded and leafed through the piles, glancing at bills and statements and official documents Sam had never even seen or heard of before. He heard the elevator ding, and he opened the door and popped his head out and glanced down the corridor. A woman in a black skirt suit unlocked her office on the other side of the corridor, then walked in and closed the door behind her without even looking at Sam. He closed the door again and returned to his position beside the desk, searching the piles. Nothing. He looked up at Steve, and said, "And you think this document has something to do with The Winter Soldier?"

"I don't know, but I think so. Anything I can find out about HYDRA will help." Steve said. "And his _name_ is Bucky." Footsteps could suddenly be heard on the wooden flooring of the corridor. Sam opened the door again and looked at the person walking down the corridor. It was the man from the elevator, holding his briefcase in one hand and what looked to be his cellphone in his other. It wasn't Harding because Sam had seen photographs of Harding. Harding was at least a decade older, with much less hair, and a lot more fat. But the guy looked like he was heading straight for Harding's office. Sam closed the door again and pushed the black leather couch so it was against the door so prevented it from opening. Then Steve said, "I found it." And he held up the yellow folder victoriously.

"That's great, but we got company." Sam said, sprinting to the other side of the room and glancing out the huge window that covered almost the entire wall and looked down over at the buzzing streets of Washington DC. As if on cue, someone started banging against the wooden door, shaking it on its already damaged hinges. Steve shoved the folder inside his jacket and zipped it up and folded it into his jeans. The banging was persistent and relentless, but no one was calling out from the other side of the corridor. "It's not Harding." Sam whispered, and Steve nodded as if he figured as much.

Sam and Steve pulled small handguns out from their belts and held them steadily, so that the muzzles were pointed directly at the door. "Mister Harding, it's Donnie." The guy called out finally. His voice was deep and incredibly intimidating, and he had a thick Boston accent. Sam and Steve glanced at each other and inched their way towards the door.

"We have to let him in, don't we? We can say that Harding said he would meet us, too, and we decided to show up early or something." Sam said, and he could feel his heart pounding faster than it had before, and his mind was racing. Thoughts and back up plans and ideas raced through his mind at a million miles an hour. "Or do we open the door and rush past him. I doubt he's got a gun. We sprint towards the elevator, and he won't be able to catch us. Then we make a run for it." Sam said, rambling as the pounding on the door stopped and the handle started to turn as the guy on the other side attempted to open it, but the door didn't open because it was blocked by the couch.

"We make a run for it." Steve said. "Don't even give him time to get a good look at us. Open the door and sprint. I mean it. You in front of me, okay? So my back is facing him and you're hidden."

Sam nodded then he and Steve quickly pushed the couch away from the door, but before they could open the door, it swung open and they were met by the man from the elevator, Donnie, standing sideways slightly with his right arm raised parallel to the floor and a gun clenched tightly in his big hand. The gun was pointed directly at Steve, and his finger was already on the trigger. His briefcase and cellphone lay discarded at his side. Donnie said, "Who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you in Harding's office?"

Sam and Steve didn't reply, not right away. They just looked at the guy. His stance was perfect, his hand was steady, his demeanor was calm, he was a professional. He waited for them to answer him, and he slowly took a step forward. Sam and Steve both had their guns trained on him, but one of them would easily be shot if they were to try make a move, and neither man was willing to risk it. So Steve said, "Who are you and why are you in Harding's office, Donnie?"

Donnie smirked and replied, "I'm Donnie." Steve frowned in frustration, and Sam gulped nervously. They couldn't start a shoot out in the middle of an office space. There would be too many casualties, too many innocent people in harm's way, and the police would undoubtably be at the scene within in minutes, which meant Steve and Sam wouldn't be able to escape. What they were doing wasn't exactly legal. They had only been able to find out about Harding because Fury had pulled a couple strings, and they were practically breaking and entering. Hell, there was no practically about it, they were breaking and entering. Sam was getting agitated and impatient, and for all they knew, Donnie could have already called the police while he had been in the bathroom.

"Don't be a smart ass," Sam said, training his gun directly between Donnie's eyes. His voice was deep and dark and threatening. He had pretty good aim, but he hadn't fired a shot for months. "Answer his questions."

"I work for Harding. We had a meeting. Now you answer my questions." Donnie replied. He didn't have a badge, or a uniform, or a gun holster around his waist or shoulders, and he hadn't identified himself as a policeman, which meant that he wasn't part of law enforcement. Sam was willing to bet that he was probably involved in some underground illegal business with Harding, which meant he hadn't called the cops. Generally, as a rule, people who weren't on the law's good side wouldn't call the police in fear of getting apprehended or questioned themselves. That relaxed Sam a little, but not much.

"We also had a meeting," Steve replied. "We're Harding's business associates."

"Bullshit," Donnie spat, and his eyes narrowed and his gaze focused solely on Steve. "I saw you guys break into here, so I called Harding and he said that he wasn't expecting any visitors. He asked me to sort it out. Get rid of the problem." They were the problem.

Sam steadied himself and planted his feet firmly on the ground. There was no way they were going to get out of there unscathed. His gaze drifted towards the desk covered in piles of paper, and pencils and pens, and a laptop. And a relatively large paperweight made of crystal that was placed on the very edge of the mahogany desk, right beside Sam. Donnie wasn't watching him, he could easily grab the crystal paperweight undetected, and throw it at Donnie to distract him so he and Steve could push past him and make their way down the corridor without having to fire any shots or get any other businessmen or policemen involved. So, he did just that. He picked up the crystal ball with his free hand and held it at his side. Steve's gaze flickered towards him, then Steve nodded slightly in silent understating. But Donnie's attention remained fixed on Steve.

Sam hurled it at Donnie and it hit him right on the forehead, breaking open skin. Blood poured out of the gash and into Donnie's eyes as he stumbled backwards and almost tripped over his briefcase he had thrown beside Harding's office door. The crystal fell to the floor and shattered. Sam and Steve ran forward, Sam first, Steve second, and they sprinted down the corridor as quickly as they could. Steve could run much, much faster, but he was purposely pacing himself so he could stay behind Sam. Sam glanced over his shoulder but his view of Donnie was obstructed by Steve's body. He looked forward again and continued running. He could hear Donnie cursing on pain and anger, but he kept running without looking back. His legs ached and adrenalin coursed through his veins and his heart pounded. Then the sound of a gunshot filled the air.

Steve cried out, but Sam still didn't look back because he could hear Steve still running behind him. That meant Steve was okay. Steve didn't shoot back and Sam knew why. Steve wasn't going to kill Donnie over a document, no matter how important. Donnie was most likely uninvolved with Stern, and was therefore an innocent bystander(almost). And Steve wouldn't want to put any other people in their offices at risk. But, the gunshot hand surely alerted the other businessmen, and chances were that someone had probably called the police. Which meant that Steve and Sam's getaway time was incredibly limited. Three, maybe four minutes at most.

The elevator dinged open just as Sam and Steve reached it, and a short, plump man with thin red hair, wearing a blue suit was about to step out, but Sam basically tackled him back into the elevator as he and Steve stumbled in. Another shot rang through the office space, but it didn't hit anyone. The elevator doors closed almost immediately, and Sam turned just in time to see Donnie sprinting towards them as fast as his legs could carry him. But he wasn't fast enough. The elevator started going down as Steve pressed the ground floor button. The man in the elevator with them stared at them with wide, teary eyes, and he backed into a corner with his hands held in the air in some form of surrender. "Please, don't hurt me." He begged.

"We won't. If you don't call the police or report us." Sam replied. And the man nodded quickly, all too willing to do anything to save himself. Human nature. Sam leaned back on the wall adjacent to the elevator doors, put the gun away, and glanced at Steve who was leaning on the wall opposite him. Steve's left arm hung loosely, his gun was back between his belt and pants, and his right arm was lifted and wrapped around his chest. His hand was tucked inside his jacket, and he pulled it out quickly, examining his bloodied fingers. His jacket was torn on the left side in a long strip, and it was slightly bloodied. "You okay?" Sam asked as his brow furrowed in concern.

"Yeah," Steve replied. "Just a scratch." He leaned against the elevator wall, closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, then winced as if it hurt. He tried again, wincing again, but then he straightened up and turned so he was facing the door. Sam did the same. Their faces were still mostly obscured by their hoods. Then the elevator pinged and opened up at the ground floor. It was bustling in the lobby, with many more people than when Sam and Steve had arrived. There was a constant buzz of noise. People were talking, competing with each other to be heard, phones were ringing, shoes were tapping against the marble, and fake laughter filled the air. Sam had a feeling no one had even heard or registered the sound of a gunshot.

He and Steve walked out the elevator and swiftly made their way towards the front door, once again not being noticed by anyone in the building. As they exited the building, they heard the sound of sirens filling the air, and getting louder as they got closer. Sam was right. Someone had clearly called the police. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Donnie emerge from the stairwell doors. His face was covered in rapidly drying blood. He scanned the room quickly, and his gaze quickly settled on Sam and Steve on the sidewalk outside the huge glass doors. "Steve, we got to go, now." Sam said, and Steve nodded then tugged on Sam's arm and they turned right and ran.

They sprinted faster than Sam ever had before and tried their hardest not to push people down as they bumped into them. Steve kept having to slow down to wait for Sam, but they were making good progress nonetheless. Behind them, Donnie emerged from the building and scanned the sidewalks for them. He was on the phone, probably calling for reinforcements, as he started running after them. He was fast. Almost as fast as them. Sam's lungs burned, his throat was dry, his eyes watered, and he was sweating through his shirt, but they didn't stop running. Sam followed Steve as they weaved through the people. Steve turned into an alleyway after minutes of running, and quickly climbed up the fire escape. Sam followed, trying his hardest to keep up. They finally reached the top after hearing more than a few people scream or curse as they were spotted climbing up the stairs. They jumped onto the roof then hid.

They lay down flat on their stomachs and peeked over the top of the building at the sidewalk below. Steve winced as he gently lowered himself down, and Sam cocked an eyebrow in concern before he averted his attention to the sidewalk below. They could see Donnie clearly. He ran towards the alley, but didn't turn into the alley. He just stopped outside of it, and searched the sidewalk. Sam figured he was looking for them. But then a black SUV pulled up beside him and three men in black suits and holding handguns climbed out of the car. The driver's window wound down and revealed a very angry looking Harding. He shouted something at Donnie, then closed his window and sped off.

Then the men turned on their heels and faced Donnie. Donnie wiped blood from his face and said something then pointed at the alleyway. "Crap." Sam whispered as they ran down the alleyway. He had no doubt that they would eventually figure out that he and Steve used the fire escape to get away. Sam stood quickly and Steve pushed himself up slightly slower, grunting, then turned on his heels quickly and started running. Sam followed, and they jumped from roof to roof, glancing back at the empty roofs behind them occasionally until they eventually saw the four men climbing onto the roof by the fire escape. Pigeons flew away in a flurry of wind and feathers as Steve and Sam pushed themselves to run faster. The men behind them were running, too, their guns drawn and at the ready.

Then the chase really began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi guys. So sorry for the long wait. I have three stories I'm writing on here and one on Wattpad, so I'm trying to update them all and still do my school work.**

**Anyway, thank you so much for the support on my previous chapter. Much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

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Sam lagged behind Steve, but only slightly as they sprinted across the rooftops. They would jump from rooftop to rooftop, and often Sam would barely stick the landing, and his feet would slip over the edge, but Steve would pull him back up and they would carry on running again. The men chasing them were always a roof behind them, and they hadn't drawn their guns yet, which meant they either couldn't aim accurately whilst running, or they were ordered to bring Steve and Sam in alive. Steve ran and jumped onto the next roof, and Sam followed, and he slipped. His body slammed into the other roof and the air rushed out of his lungs, but nothing felt broken. He was slipping off the roof, scrambling to grab hold of something, _anything_, to pull himself back up. Steve grabbed his arm, but instead of pulling him up, he lowered him and Sam's feet landed on the fire escape of that building.

Steve lowered himself down beside Sam, groaning and wincing in pain, then turned and started running down the ladder. Sam followed and shouted, "They have the advantage now, Steve. They have higher ground."

"Just trust me, please." Steve shouted over his shoulder. Sam sighed but nodded and started running faster. They passed window after window, some open, some closed. Sam heard more than a few gasps and shouts as people either heard Sam and Steve's heavy steps, or saw them sprinting down the ladders four at a time. Either way, it was going to draw Harding's men's attention, and Sam and Steve couldn't afford that. At least not while they were at a clear and obvious disadvantage. But, he continued following Steve because he trusted Steve with his life. Literally.

Then, Steve stopped running so abruptly that Sam almost ran into him. Steve glanced left and right, then up and down, before he took a step closer to the window. Sam was panting and gasping for air that just wouldn't seem to come. He stared up at the parallel building's roof, half expecting the four men to be watching them. They weren't, but Sam knew it wouldn't be long before they caught up to he and Steve. Sam turned back to Steve, and found him opening the window. Steve climbed in quickly, and Sam followed and fell to the wooden flooring of the apartment they had broken into. Steve stood up quickly and slammed the window shut. Sam surveyed his surroundings, and he realized he recognized them.

It was Steve's apartment. Steve was standing against the wall to the right of his window, and he motioned for Sam to do the same. Sam stood quickly and ran to the wall, standing flush against it so his shoulders were flat against the beige painted wall. They waited for a while before they heard the fire escape being rattled by heavy footsteps. It felt like forever before the feet came into view and the four men ran straight past Steve's window. They looked inside briefly, but didn't see either of them. They ran all the way to the bottom before Sam risked peering out the window.

As they reached the bottom and ran to the edge of the alleyway, they stood in a deformed square and had a hushed conversation. Their hands flew in multiple directions before they came to a decision. With a few more words of obvious hostility, they turned right and started running down the sidewalk. Steve sprinted to the other side of the room and glanced out the window. Sam followed. The men had already blended into the crowd, and Sam could no longer see them.

He sighed in relief and stood with his back against the wall. He slid down to the floor and buried his sweaty face in his hands. Steve kept watching the sidewalk as if he expected them to come back any minute. Eventually, he turned and slid down the wall so he was sitting beside Sam. He shifted uncomfortably and winced, but Sam didn't comment on it. "That was close, man." Sam laughed, and Steve nodded in agreement.

Steve pulled the yellow folder out of his jacket and placed it on the floor beside him. Blood stained the top corner of it, and Sam stared at it for a long time before he registered that the blood belonged to Steve. He glanced at Steve's jacket and saw blood surrounding the huge tear across the left side of his chest. Steve took a deep breath and turned to face Sam. "What the hell is that guy hiding that's so important?" He asked, frowning. That singular wrinkle at the top of his nose deepened and his forehead crinkled. Sam looked at him carefully. He didn't look pale which meant he hadn't lost too much blood, and he wasn't in too much pain, and he wasn't going into shock.

"Obviously, whatever his secret is, it's important enough to kill people for. He's got a whole unit of bodyguards working for him." Sam said, and he stood up slowly. Steve followed suit. He stood up very slowly, using the wall as support. He winced and his brow furrowed in pain for a second. He bent down and picked up the yellow folder before straightening up. He walked to the kitchen and pulled two water bottles out of the fridge. He threw one to Sam and opened one for himself. He finished the entire thing in only one sip. Sam finished it in two. Steve placed the folder on the newly replaced kitchen counter.

Steve's house had been mostly renovated after the Winter Soldier had shot Fury. New walls and new paint. Some new furniture. New flooring. And a new kitchen counter. Sam had been in the apartment when Steve had returned from the hospital. Steve had been in agony and he had been weak, and Sam remembered his pale, pained face when he saw Fury's blood covering his floor. Steve had spent the next three days of recuperation and painful healing at Sam's house. Sam and Natasha and the other Avengers had all pitched in and helped to basically rebuild Steve's ruined apartment. Sam had a better, more pleasing memory of Steve's face when he had seen his new apartment. The first smile Steve had cracked in the week after being shot by The Winter Soldier.

"You think he's working for Hydra directly?" Sam asked, though he already knew the answer. It had been nagging at him since Donnie had held them at gunpoint in the middle of Harding's office. They had no direct ties linking Harding to Hydra, but there was no other possible reason for him to be so secretive or protective. His gaze was glued to the yellow envelope lying on the granite countertop. Steve was leaning against the table and his hands were leaning on it palm down. His fingertips were only an inch or two away from the envelope, but he wasn't moving any closer. Sam was itching to open it. He wanted to, but that was Steve's job, not his. Bucky was Steve's friend, not Sam's. Truth be told, Sam hated Bucky. He hated him for what he had put Steve through. Steve deserved better than that. But, Steve had faith in Bucky, so Sam was trying to reserve judgement, though it was harder than it seemed.

"There's only one way to find out, I guess." Steve replied. He slowly inched his fingers towards the envelope. Sam watched him intensely, his gaze unwavering even as Steve glanced at him awkwardly. Steve's slightly shaky hands pulled the envelope closer to his body and lifted it carefully, like he was carrying something fragile. He gently pulled the flap so the yellowing white papers in the envelope were peeking out of the top. Sam was holding his breath involuntarily. Best case scenario was that the folder contained information on Bucky. Worst case scenario was that it contained something unimportant and irrelevant, in which case Steve and Sam had just risked their lives for nothing.

Steve pulled the papers out and held them in his hands for a long, long time as he leafed through them and spent time scrutinizing every mark and point on every page. Eventually, he handed them to Sam. Steve slammed his fisted hands on the countertop so hard that the island almost collapsed from the impact. Sam looked at the front page, and he released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

In big, bold, red letters on the front, it said 'James Buchanan Barnes'. Underneath, in a similar but smaller font, it said 'Hydra'. The next page consisted of a detailed description of Bucky's life as a child. His mother, his father, Steve before the serum. The following page had a photograph of a youthful Bucky standing beside a scrawny, sickly Steve. They were smiling as though they were trying hard to stifle laughter that threatened to spill. The following page had a description of Hydra's discovery of Bucky, and their torturous methods that ultimately created the Winter Soldier. The last few pages were old photographs of Bucky's procedures, and his time spent cryogenically frozen, and his metal arm.

They found him at the bottom of the mountain, unconscious and barely breathing. His arm was severed just above the elbow, and he was bleeding profusely. His vitals were irregular and worrisome, so Doctor Zola and his multiple assistants dragged him back to their base. At the base, they managed to stabilize him just enough to perform a few procedures on him. The procedures took days. The procedures consisted of amputating most of what remained of his arm, and replacing it with the robotic arm he had become known for. It was a painful and slow process, but a successful one. Soon, Bucky was awake and stable and able to control the functions of his new arm. They erased his memory in an excruciating extraction, and fed him propaganda. Then, they cryogenically froze him until he was needed again. The rest, as they say, was history.

When Sam was done reading the file, he threw it onto the countertop and looked at Steve expectantly. Steve was staring at him questioningly. Sam shrugged and sighed then said, "Well, shit." Steve smirked and nodded slowly. Sam said nothing for a while, and they stood in a tense silence. Sam was the first to interrupt it. "What now?" He asked cautiously.

"Now," Steve said, and he paused. He stood up quickly. His hand lifted involuntarily as he winced, and he wrapped it around the left side of his chest. It came away bloody, but Sam hardly noticed it as he followed Steve out of the kitchen. "Now, we visit Stern. I need to find Bucky." Steve continued. He grabbed his keys and walked to front door quickly, Sam stayed right beside him.

They walked through the front door and towards the stairs. Sam noticed Steve stare at the apartment door to the left for a moment or two longer than necessary. He didn't question Steve about it. They walked down the stairs slowly, because it seemed like the process was painful for Steve, though he wouldn't admit it. He was too stubborn and too strong to. Sam felt anxious, like he was being watched. He kept glancing over his shoulder and down the stairs, half expecting Harding's men to come running towards them. Of course, they never did. But Sam had a nagging feeling that he and Steve hadn't managed to rid themselves of the guards. He turned to Steve and said, "They're going to come back. Harding's men, I mean."

Steve nodded and replied, "I know."

"So, what do we do?" Sam asked. They speed walked towards the front door and quickly got lost in the crowd of oblivious businessmen and women. Steve walked slightly faster than Sam as they weaved through the crowds of busy people. Eventually, Steve managed to summon a taxi, and they climbed in quickly before the taxi sped off down the street. Steve muttered directions to the taxi driver then turned to face Sam again. Sam watched the sidewalk outside his window for a while, absentmindedly searching for Harding's men. He cleared his throat and repeated, "What do we do now?"

"We stay focused on the matter at hand." Steve said with a shrug as if it were the most obvious answer. Sam nodded. Steve turned to face the front and he winced painfully again. He took a deep breath that only ended in a pained grimace. Sam watched and was about to ask Steve about his 'scratch', but a firm dismissive wave and warning glare from Steve dissuaded him.

"And, what exactly is the matter at hand?" Sam asked. He realized he had no idea where Stern was, or where the taxi was taking them. He remembered Stern quite clearly. A strange looking guy with a puffy face and thinning, light brown hair, and a voice that could grate on Sam's last nerves. He had never spoken to him personally, but he had spent enough time watching him with Natasha and Steve. He had seen him in the papers and on television multiple times, but he hadn't ever paid any attention to him because he was of no concern to Sam. Why would he be? That is, until Captain America and Black Widow showed up on his doorstep at seven in the morning covered in dust and blood and torn clothing. Then, it seemed Stern and his associates were all that was Sam's life for the next day or so.

"Stern," Steve answered plainly. Sam nodded silently and stared out the window again. He watched the many people of Washington DC cross the street and walk on the sidewalk. They were all so happy and carefree compared to Sam and Steve. Sam sometimes longed for his old life where the most life altering decision had been what to eat for breakfast that morning. He had left the army and began a life according to his own rules. That life he created no longer existed, and he missed it at times. But, despite the fact that he missed it, he knew he wouldn't trade his current life for anything. Sure, it was difficult and taxing and tiring and dangerous, but he loved it and enjoyed it, and that's all that mattered to him. And he would do anything to help Steve. He looked away from the window.

"Where is Stern?" He asked Steve casually.

"Federal Prison," Steve replied. "I'm going to have to pull a few strings to get in there."

"What are the chances that we get out of this relatively unharmed?" Sam asked. He glanced at the bleeding gash along Steve's chest, then looked into Steve's bright blue eyes that communicated thousands of unspoken emotions. He picked at the peeling leather on the seats of the taxi idly. He wasn't sure if he could watch Steve get hurt again.

"Had you asked me that a few hours ago, I would've said the chances were high that we get out with no loose ends or threats. But, after seeing how determined Harding is to keep his secrets hidden, I'm going to say that chances are we're not out of danger." Steve replied.

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An hour later and a few strings had been pulled, a few favors had been asked, and a few illegalities pardoned. Steve and Sam stood in the courtyard of the federal prison where Stern was being held temporarily until he could be transferred. The perimeter of the prison was lined with double fencing and multiple layers of barbed wire. The courtyard was paved and surrounded by dying grass. The building was made of a dark brown brick and had small windows covered by reinforced steel bars. Prison guards lined the outside of the building and the inside of the fence. They each wore navy blue uniforms and had handguns, stun guns, batons, and handcuffs in separate holsters on their leather belts.

Sam and Steve were escorted into the building by a burly red headed man who walked with an air of authority. Sam was being slightly weighed down by fatigue, but he wasn't willing to rest until both he and Steve had satisfying answers to their many questions. Steve was looking slightly worse for wear. His jacket was torn and bloodied and dirtied. Even as fatigued as he looked, he still managed to appear intimidating and strong and invincible.

The guard led them through the high security prison. They walked past cell block after cell block until they reached the one farthest to the left. In the very last cell was Stern. Two guards stood by the door leading into the cell block, and another two stood at the end of the cell block by the wall. Three guards patrolled the corridor continuously. Most of the inmates were laying on their thin beds and reading books or sleeping or simply staring at the grey concrete ceiling above their heads. But Stern sat on his bed with his elbows on his knees and his sweaty face buried in his wrinkled hands. He looked up at the sound of new footsteps. His face crumpled in anxiety as he saw Sam and Steve.

"Thanks," Steve whispered to the guard that had led them to Stern. He nodded in response and walked out the cell block quickly. Steve stood so close to the cell bars that his chest was touching them, but Sam stayed back. This was Steve's job, not his, and he needed to allow Steve to do it himself. But Sam hovered, just in case anything happened. "Stern." Steve greeted coldly.

"What do you want?" Stern asked as he stood up slowly and approached the bars. He was wearing a dark blue jumpsuit with black writing that said inmate on the back. He had lost a pound or two, obviously unsatisfied with the prison food he was being fed. His Botox filled face had aged in only a few weeks, and his brown hair was untidy and dirty.

"Harding," Steve said simply. Stern's gaze darted to the blood on Steve's jacket, then returned to Steve's face. He glanced over Steve's shoulder and peered at Sam for a moment. His expression changed to one of sudden understanding as he pieces the puzzle together. He raised his eyebrows as if to say continue. Steve wrapped his hands around the bars and leaned in close. "Does he work for Hydra directly?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Stern cocked an eyebrow and smiled smugly. He shook his head and stepped away from the bars, but Steve grabbed for him and tugged at his overalls. Stern came crashing into the steel bars and Steve tightened his grip on his overalls. He struggled weakly to get free from Steve's grasp, but his attempts were to no avail. The guards glanced at Stern and Steve and placed their hands on their guns, ready to spring into action if need be. Steve's eyes had grown dark with fury and rage and other raw unbridled emotions. "Shit, man." Stern gasped as his podgy hands wrapped around Steve's wrist. Steve just tugged at him harder and slammed him into the bars. Stern let go of Steve's wrist and held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. Harding, you say?" Stern said eagerly. Steve nodded silently. "Obviously you paid him an unexpected visit." Stern said as his gaze once again traveled to Steve's chest. "He's... He may or may not be associated with Hydra."

"_Don't_ mess with me, Stern." Steve warned. Sam had never heard Steve's voice so deep and threatening and intimidating. Steve's entire body was rigid and tense with anticipation and anger.

"And what do I get out of this whole arrangement if I tell you?" Stern shouted loudly in the otherwise silent cell block, earning multiple grunts of annoyance and anger from the other inmates in the cell block. One of the guards shot Sam a warning glance and he held his hands up on mock helplessness. He shrugged nonchalantly and the guards rolled their eyes. Stern was looking up into Steve's eyes, and Steve's was glaring back at him. Sam could see Steve's shoulders heave and he could practically see Steve's nostrils flaring. Stern was pushing his luck and Sam knew it, but he also knew Steve wouldn't do anything to harm Stern. At least not in a federal prison. "What's my reward? Huh?" Stern screamed. He was trying to sound intimidating, but Sam couldn't take his facade seriously.

"Don't push it," Steve warned. "Just tell me." Stern shook his head defiantly, and Steve took a deep breath and threw Stern to the floor. Stern fell onto his knees and he grunted and groaned dramatically as he mumbled something about his knee being messed up already. He got up with the support of the bars. He shook his head again and smiled smugly. Steve glanced back at Sam with a desperate look on his face. Sam mouthed the word, 'lie' to Steve, and Steve hesitated before nodding and turning back to Stern. "I can shorten your sentence." Steve lied quickly. It caught Stern's attention.

"Keep talking." Stern said as he stepped closer to Steve.

"You can get a shorter sentence if you tell me whether Harding works for Hydra directly, and what evidence there is to support that claim." Steve explained further. Stern narrowed his eyes in thought and shook his head again. He sat back down on his bed and leaned back nonchalantly.

"Not yet," Stern muttered bitterly. "I want written proof first." Steve looked back at Sam helplessly and Sam stared at him as he tried to come up with a plan. He ended up just closing his eyes and shaking his head to indicate no. Steve sighed heavily and nodded. He turned back to Stern and shook his head emphatically. Stern stood up again and approached Steve. He opened his mouth to talk, but closed it again. He opened it again and said, "Fine. I'll give you something now, and the rest after I see written proof of a shorter sentence. Deal?" Steve nodded in agreement.

"I want to know what evidence there is out there to prove that Harding is directly linked to Hydra, and not just through you." Steve said. Stern laughed and shook his head.

"No," Stern said casually. His voice held a tone of authority that Sam knew meant that Stern had the upper hand in this situation. "You don't get to choose what I tell you. All I'm going to tell you is that Harding works for Hydra, directly... And he knows more than you think. He knows what you need to know." Stern said and he suddenly seemed so much scarier, so much more powerful. Maybe it was the way that his voice deepened, or maybe it was because of the absolute certainty in his voice, but he seemed stronger. Steve pushed himself closer to the bars and reached out for Stern, but one of the patrolling guards rushed over and ripped Steve away quickly. Steve was panting and his brow was furrowed and his eyes were almost black with anger.

"That's enough! You have to go now, sir." The guard with the brunette hair and shocking green eyes said as he pushed Steve away from Stern's cell. Steve pushed the guard's big hands off his chest and glared at Stern murderously. Stern was gasping for air and panting pathetically. Sam shook his head angrily. "Go." The guard said, and Sam rushed forward and wrapped his hand around Steve's huge bicep. He hauled Steve away slowly, and dragged him out of the concrete and brick and steel prison walls.

Once they were outside, Sam turned to Steve and held him by his shoulders. Steve was looking anywhere but at Sam, so Sam said, "Look at me, Steve." Steve looked at Sam and their gazes locked. "We got something. It may not be all you wanted, but we got something. We have _confirmation_. So you need to calm down and we need to go back to your apartment and figure the rest out. Okay?" Sam said firmly. Steve sighed and nodded, and his shoulders hunched, and he suddenly felt heavy in Sam's grip. Sam patted Steve on the back, and they turned and walked out to the taxi that was waiting for them. The prison guard with red hair smiled at them amicably and nodded. Sam _assumed_ the taxi had been arranged by the prison guard. His mother used to tell him that assumption could prove disastrous. Then again, she had been proven wrong time after time.

"How does he know what I want to know about?" Steve asked. "He said Harding knows what I _need_ to know."

"It's not like your past with Bucky is a secret. I think most people know you'll be looking for him. I mean, Bucky's a fugitive now, too. From the people at Hydra and the government." Sam replied.

"We need to nail Harding. He knows more about Bucky than Stern does." Steve said as he opened the taxi door. Sam nodded silently. "Maybe he could lead us to Bucky."

Steve got in, followed by Sam, and they slouched in the worn leather seats. Sam was tired. And Steve looked like he was barely hanging onto his calm composure by a thread. The entire Bucky situation had changed Steve. Maybe not a lot, and maybe he was still Steve, but he had changed. He wasn't as happy and carefree and optimistic as he had once been. Sam muttered Steve's address to the taxi driver, and the car sped off down the road. Sam stared out the window silently. He was looking but not really seeing, just as Steve was, and it took him a long time to realize that they were heading away from Washington DC and not towards it. "Wrong way, man." Sam said as he turned to face the driver. The driver was tall and broad. Sam leaned forward, suddenly becoming alert. Steve was more alert, too. "What the hell?" Sam whispered.

Suddenly, the taxi driver turned around with a gun in his hand and the next thing Sam knew, he felt his vision blurring and graying as electricity jolted through his body. He tried to lift his arms but he couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel anything other than the pain. His world was spinning and his throat was constricting. He barely saw Steve jump at the taxi driver before his world faded into darkness and all the pain pinching his every nerve disappeared as quickly as it had come. His mother had always told him that assumption could prove disastrous. Turned out she was right.


End file.
